


hell yeah i'm a dick (addicted to you)

by numbah1yankee



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Implied Child Abuse, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 13:27:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/862533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/numbah1yankee/pseuds/numbah1yankee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott isn't supposed to be here. He isn't crazy. He can't say the same about the mysterious boy with the blonde hair and broken smirk.</p><p>But he can't seem to stay away, no matter how much it hurts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First foray into the Teen Wolf fandom so please be gentle with me. I am supposed to be focusing on my Avengers fic but this plot bunny wouldn't leave.
> 
> This is based on this post on Tumblr: http://fuckyeahteenwolfau.tumblr.com/post/34130232158/chadleymacguff-scisaac-week-au-after-a
> 
> Please pay attention to the warnings and tags which I will update as I add chapters and new things pop up. This is NOT a happy story, both Isaac and Scott are fucked up and there will NOT be a happy ending
> 
> Title from The Mighty Fall - Fall Out Boy

Scott curls into himself and picks at the dressings on his wrists. He revels in the sharp sting as the fresh scabs pull and tear. It’s not enough. He’d much rather feel the cool metal of a razor between his fingers and the bite of the razor’s edge as it dips in and slices flesh. Reopening his wounds is no where near the release that he wants but it will have to do.

He’s been at Beacon Hills Juvenile Asylum for all of five days and he is absolutely miserable. The group sessions are bullshit, the meals are terrible, and his room is severely lacking in sharp objects. The only respite he gets from the crushing monotony of this place is the free hour that the patients are given right after dinner.

It’s during this hour that he sits in the common room and watches the other patients. He likes observing the other broken people, the rejects that society has tossed aside, labeled crazy, and locked away from the public eye. 

A boy with brown hair buzzed short sits at a table in the middle of the room with his knees pulled up to his chest. His fingers on one hand twitch restlessly against the table and he chews viciously at the fingers on the other hand. Scott likes him, he’s nice and talks a lot and his constant babbling always makes Scott feel a little less claustrophobic in this place. Plus, his name is Stiles and Scott can’t really think of any cooler names than that.

Across from Stiles sits a large black boy with a glare permanently affixed to his face. Scott recognizes him from his group sessions and knows his name is Boyd and that he never speaks. Beside the silent boy is a girl with wild curls of blonde hair. Her hand is clutched tightly by the black boy and she smiles softly as she tries to figure out a puzzle. Scott had seen her have a seizure his first day, right in the middle of lunch. She had to be sedated by the orderlies and taken away. Scott had wondered where to.

On the other side of the room, two girls sit huddled together on the floor. One girl, with fiery red hair, babbles to herself as she braids the brown hair of the sad faced girl beside her. Scott knows that the red head is Lydia and she was attacked a few years ago and that’s why she is there. The other girl, Allison he thinks, is convinced that her mother was murdered by werewolves but it isn’t as funny as it sounds.

Scott picks some more at his wrists and suppresses a whine in the back of his throat. 

He’s getting that feeling again. The one that twists white hot in his belly and doesn’t wane until his skin is ripped to shreds and his fingers and clothes are stained red. He wants to dig his fingers in and claw at the raw, pink flesh beneath but he doesn’t dare. He’d done it his first day and they had rewrapped his wrists and given him some pill that made him feel nauseous and dull. 

He doesn’t need the pills though. He’s not crazy. He doesn’t belong here. He’s not depressed or suicidal.

At least not today.

Maybe he should go sit with the group at the table. Stiles would probably be able to distract him.

Scott is about to get up when he hears the doors to the common room open.

His head snaps to the side just as two large orderlies walk in behind a boy.

Scott feels his heart skip a beat as he looks at the boy. He is tall and lanky with tightly toned muscle beneath pale, porcelain skin. His hair is a nest of tight sandy coils and his face looks pinched as if he is permanently on the verge of tears. He wears a gray long sleeved shirt, black sweat pants and socks with no shoes which Scott has come learn means he is prone to violence.

He looks older than Scott and he is so beautiful that Scott feels like he wants to cry. He swallows against the lump that has formed in his throat and shifts his eyes away as he burrows deeper into his chair.

He wonders where this boy has come from, why he hasn’t seen him before. Is he new? Was he sick?

Scott feels the itch recede slightly and he presses his fingers tightly against his wrist. The ache is comfortable and helps to cloud his mind. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back and swallows.

“Hm, you’re new.” 

The voice that snaps Scott out of his head is venomously sweet and deep with a highly amused lilt. The slight british accent oozes over his body like molasses and he barely hides the shudder that rips through him.

His eyes fly open and he finds himself staring into the bluest eyes he has ever seen. 

The new boy’s cherubic face breaks into a sinister smirk and he licks his lips. Scott feels a shiver of fear slide down his spine and he presses his fingers deeper into his wrist.

The boy seems to notice his reaction and his smirk deepens and he stares into Scott’s eyes, searching for something, before he drops down to sit on the floor with his head resting on the younger boy’s outstretched leg. 

“What’re you here for?”  
Scott almost doesn’t hear the question. He is distracted by the slightly clammy fingers that wrap themselves around his ankle. 

He swallows before answering.

“They think I’m crazy but I’m not. I don’t belong in here.”

Scott almost grimaces at how weak his voice sounds. 

The boy beside his leg lets out a hollow sounding laugh and tightens his hold on Scott’s ankle.

“They think I’m crazy too. But I’m not.”

“Why are you here then? What do they say is wrong with you?”

The boy turns his face into Scott’s leg and he can feel the grin against his leg.

“I like to hurt people,” he says plainly and, as if to demonstrate, he digs his nails hard into Scott’s ankle.

The younger boy lets out a squeak more out of surprise than pain.

“I’m Isaac.”

Isaac punctuates his introduction by biting down hard on Scott’s leg.

Scott bites his lip to keep a scream from ripping free of his throat. He squeezes his eyes shut and ducks his head, feeling tears slip past his eyelids.

He knows he should scream. Let the orderlies come and take Isaac away. Its clear that he’s violent and shouldn’t be kept around the other patients and by keeping quiet, he could be putting all of them in danger. 

Something unidentifiable though makes him take the pain. He doesn’t revel in it, he doesn’t enjoy it, it hurts and he wants to cry out for it to stop but the fiery itch in his belly is gone and maybe, just maybe, this could be enough to keep it at bay. His fingers fall away from the bandages and he grips the arms of the chair instead.

After a few moments that feel both like hours and seconds, Isaac lifts off of Scott’s leg though his fingers still stay firmly wrapped around his ankle. He grins manically and looks up at Scott, his blue eyes dark with something not quite threatening and somehow, Scott feels like he has just passed some sort of a test.

He lifts his head up, sniffs subtly, and resists the urge to wipe his tears.

“I’m Scott.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the second chapter guys! I want to thank everyone who read, subscribed and commented on this story. I appreciate all of it and I hope that I don't disappoint you with this chapter.

"So how are you adjusting Scott?" asks Dr. Deaton.

He sits watching Scott earnestly from behind his desk. Scott fiddles with his bandages and avoids looking up.

The silence stretches between the two and the only noise in the room is the soft breaths of both occupants and the ticks of the clock on the wall above the door. It becomes a game of wills, who will break first and Scott is determined to be the victor.

This is his first solo session with the therapist and he is beginning to miss the group sessions where there was less pressure for him to fill the silence.

He almost feels bad for Deaton. He likes the guy honestly. He isn't as much of a headshrinker or advisor so much as a conversation leader. He doesn't talk to Scott like he is a child or stupid and he doesn't make him feel like he is crazy which Scott appreciates. Even in the group sessions, he treats everyone like an adult.

He just thinks that this whole situation is a load of bullshit. He's not crazy.

He decides to throw the guy a bone.

“The food sucks.”

Deaton lets a small smile slip onto his face but he doesn’t comment and that fact, that Deaton is not afraid to show his amusement to the patients, is another thing that he likes about the guy.

"Are you getting along with the other patients?"

Scott nods silently and finally looks up. Deaton meets his eyes and gives an encouraging smile. Scott turns his head and feels his cheeks heat up.

"I really get along with that Stiles guy. He's nice."

"Ah yes, Mr. Stilinski. I think you guys will make the best of friends. Anyone else?"

Scott tries to ignore when Isaac's malicious grin pops into his head and he shakes his head in the negative to Deaton's questioning gaze. He knows that he should probably tell Deaton about what Isaac did to him but he doesn't want to. A part of him is afraid of what Isaac will do if he tells and another part is a bit embarrassed about what happened. A larger part though wants to know what Isaac will do next and if he turns the older boy in now he won't have the chance to find out.

Deaton gives him a look like he can see the conflict happening in his head but he doesn't say anything about it.

The rest of the session goes uneventfully, Deaton asks questions about why Scott hurts himself, Scott deflects or blatantly ignores them, Deaton asks about his meds, Scott tells him they suck and make him feel weird. At the end, Deaton thanks him for coming in as if he had a choice and Scott doesn't feel like telling the man that he didn't. He just stands and nods and makes his way to the door.

Just as he is about to open the door he turns and looks Deaton in the eye.

"I'm not crazy. I don't belong in here."

Deaton chuckles at him and gives him a smile that says more than Scott is equipped to understand.

"In my experience, everyone belongs here."

Scott doesn't know what exactly what he means by that and he's too tired to puzzle through it. Instead he makes his way out of the office and into the hallway wondering if he'll see Isaac again tonight.

-

Isaac searches out Scott as soon as he enters the common room.

The boy that has dominated his thoughts since the day before is curled up in the couch alone again and he tries to hide the smile that pulls at his lips.

As he makes his way across the room to his latest obsession, he can feel the fearful gazes of the other patients. He feels a familiar spark of arousal in his belly and slows his pace slightly so he can relish the feeling.

Deaton thinks its the power that he gets off on, the power he feels from striking fear into the hearts of all that meet him. Sure, he likes the power, but that’s not what does it for him. It’s simpler than that.

He doesn’t really care about the power. He just likes the look on their faces, the sound of their breath coming out in rushed pants, the feel of their pulse jumping beneath his fingers. There is nothing quite as attractive to him, their pupils blown wide and twitchy, the tremble of their fingers.

It doesn’t matter if he is the one who puts that fear in their eyes as long as he gets to see it.

The new kid, Scott, his fear is almost breathtaking in its paradox, the way he fears but does nothing to prevent, and that makes him interesting.

When they met the day before, he had wanted to see if the boy would prove to be a better distraction than the rest of the patients. The mix of fear, mistrust and, surprisingly, curiosity he found in Scott was something he could see himself becoming addicted to.

He grins down at Scott, having finally arrived to stand before him, as the boy looks up with wide eyes.

Isaac thinks that he looks like a puppy and he has a strong urge to kick him if only for the poetry behind it. He doesn’t, for more than one reason but the desire is there. Instead he sits down, too close for Scott’s comfort, and leans his head down on the other boy’s shoulder. He can feel more than hear the sharp intake of breath and he feels that spark of arousal again.

“Hey Scotty, miss me?”

He doesn’t expect an answer and feels nothing when he doesn’t receive one. Instead, he drags one of Scott’s hands into his own lap and carefully strokes it, running his fingers softly up and down each digit, around his palm and pokes under the dressings wrapped around his wrist.

He can feel how tense the boy is under him and that just won’t do. The body doesn’t register pain as well when its expecting it and when he hurts Scott, he wants him to feel it. He wants the boy to bite his lip so hard it bleeds to avoid shouting out in pain, wants him to squeeze his eyes shut to hold back the tears.  It doesn’t take long for him to relax and when he does Isaac grins and digs his nails into the soft and broken flesh beneath the bandages on Scott’s wrist. A tiny, distressed grunt is all that Scott lets out but it goes straight to Isaac’s dick and he has to bite his own lip to avoid moaning obscenely.

He spends the rest of the free hour digging his fingers into Scott and relishing the boys tiny sounds of pain and what sounds suspiciously like relief. By the time the orderlies announce that its time for them to head to their rooms, Isaac is achingly hard. He is unable hide his grin as he removes his hand and licks at the thick blood on his fingers.

He turns his head and almost comes when he sees Scott’s face.

The boy’s face is flushed red and his eyes are brimming with unshed tears. His bottom lip is shiny with spit and swollen and red and Isaac want’s to bite it until it’s black and blue.

Scott meets his eyes for a second before he averts his eyes and a small tear slips free. Before he can stop himself, Isaac leans forward and licks the tear away and closes his eyes as he savors the salty taste.

He chases the taste of Scott’s tear with the taste of Scott’s blood on his fingers and stands slowly. The whimper the boy had made plays on repeat in his head and he doesn’t even bother attempting to hide his erection as he heads to the door where his orderly escort awaits.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week was so crazy! I didn't even know if I would be able to get this in on time.
> 
> Here it is though, the next installment. Enjoy!

Scott, as it turns out had been missing out.

During his first week, while the other patients were socializing and relaxing in the common room, he was being poked and prodded and questioned and tested by every doctor, nurse, psychiatrist, and orderly in the joint. There were whole sections of time, between meals and therapy sessions, that he could have been sitting by himself or playing with puzzles or watching soap operas on a horribly cliched static riddled TV. Who even uses antennas anymore?

When Scott finds out, he is mildly unimpressed.

He enters the common room and scans it for his favorite spot, purposefully not thinking about where Isaac is and if he will see him again. He sees that his spot is taken by a Hawaiian looking boy and a boy with short, tousled, dirty blonde hair that he remembers from group. They are cuddling and Scott feels a brief bit of warmth as he watches the Hawaiian glance nervously around and the blonde, Jackson he thinks, pull him in closer for comfort.

They’re cute and so Scott lets it slide that he has to find a new place to mope. 

He sighs heavily, completely ignoring the heaviness that settles in his chest with the knowledge that if Isaac shows up, he won’t be able to do anything to him. He heads over to the table with the puzzles and Stiles, Boyd, and the girl with the seizures. When he sits, Stiles beams at him and pushes some puzzle pieces to him and Scott decides that this won’t be so bad.

“You’re sitting with us. Thats great,” Stiles says softly but quickly. 

Scott nods and picks up some of the pieces. 

They work out the puzzle for the next half an hour or so. He and Stiles finish up their own and Erica, as he learns, and Boyd push their own to the center for them all to work on. 

It’s nice, peaceful, better than most of the evenings he’s spent back home, but it still doesn’t stop that itch beneath his skin. 

Scott’s never smoked a day in his life, but he imagines this is how smokers feel when they’re on the wagon. He looks up at the door and then back to his usual couch periodically, checking to see if he can get away, soothe the itch for a while. He’s sure his new friends, won’t mind.

“He’s totally taken dude.” Stiles snaps him out of is thoughts.

“Huh, what?”

“Danny, the one cuddling with the guy who keeps glaring at everyone? Yeah, he’s taken.”

Scott frowns in confusion and looks back at the couch. Sure enough, Jackson is glaring at him and Scott is sure that if that saying was true, he’d be six feet under by now. He shakes his head and turns back to Stiles.

“Oh, yeah, okay. Sure.”

Stiles looks like he wants to either pet him or slap him. Scott is glad he goes with neither and just sticks a finger in his mouth and gnaws on the nail.

“You kept staring at him man. Like you were trying to send him a message or something. Telepathically.” 

His words are garbled around the finger but Scott understands him anyway.

“Yeah, no I wasn’t...”

The door to the common room opens and as Scott looks up, all the breath in his body leaves. Isaac steps into the room, followed by his usual escort of orderlies, and scans the room with his too blue eyes. Their eyes meet and Scott feels like he’s been punched in the gut.

There is a question in those eyes and what almost looks like hurt but Scott knows that must be a trick of the light. He turns his head to the couch, where Danny and Jackson are talking really close, their faces almost touching, and Isaac follows his gaze.

The pure fury that flashes across his face is not at all what Scott expected.

It’s gone in an instant and the next bit, Scott still isn’t sure actually happens.

Isaac steps calmly away from the orderlies, his face the epitome of stone. He makes his way slowly across the room to where Danny and Jackson are and it almost seems like the entire room knows whats going to happen besides them. The dull murmurings that once filled the room trickle down to a whisper as Isaac gets closer and closer.

Scott feels his stomach twist and turn in his stomach and he almost shouts out a warning when Isaac steps behind the couch. 

Even if he had though, it wouldn’t have been quick enough because suddenly, Isaac is yanking Jackson’s arm up in the air, wrapping thin but long fingers around Jackson’s own index and middle digits and bending, bending, bending.

Scott is certain that the crack could be heard throughout the whole facility.

On the other hand, he is also certain that Jackson’s screams are muted and dull.

Kind of like a movie.

Which is what this feels like, because no way in hell does shit like this actually take place.

Everything seems like it’s in slow motion until its not and then everything is a chaotic rush of movement and sound. Danny is screaming and crying, Jackson is screaming and struggling against Isaac’s grip, the other patients are a mix of loudly freaking out and creepily fixated. Stiles is breathing heavily and his hands are trembling more than usual. A panic attack Scott thinks.

Then the orderlies and nurses are rushing in and separating Isaac from Jackson.

He’d always thought that cartoons and kids shows had exaggerated but there the orderlies were, pulling out a needle and stabbing it none to gently into Isaac’s neck. His struggles get weaker and his hands fall to his sides and he lets the men gather him up and carry him away. 

Scott’s eyes follow him the whole way, and just as the nurse starts asking for everyone to calm down and a doctor rushes in to tend to Jackson, their eyes meet and Scott knows in a way he has never known anything before in his life, that this, this madness that has just occurred was done for him. Isaac had broken a boy’s fingers for him and he would do much, much worse for him again.

Amidst the screaming and yelling, Stiles’ panic attack, Erica’s whimpering and Boyd’s indifferent stare, Scott turns his head and empties his stomach onto the cheap linoleum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I want to thank everyone who has been watching and commenting and leaving kudos to this story. It was a big step for me finally taking on a chaptered story and everyone has been so nice and this story is being so well received. THANK YOU ALL!!! :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the wait everyone! This was supposed to be out a week ago but I've had ridiculous computer issues for the past two weeks and a ton of other stuff.
> 
> Here is chapter 4 though. Finally! Enjoy.

Isaac hates Deaton’s office. It’s so much like a Psychiatrist’s office, with is dull brown furniture and calming yellow walls, shelves lining the walls filled with Psych text books, scientific journals and published studies and self help books.

Isaac gets antsy every time he has to be in here and this time is no different.

He glares at the floor as Deaton watches him with a weariness that makes his skin crawl.

“Isaac, you know why you’re here. Let’s talk about what happened yesterday.”

Isaac doesn’t bother looking up.

“Fuck that.”

Deaton doesn’t respond or flinch and Isaac has to begrudgingly admit that he fully respects that about the man. He has had shrinks that were thoroughly offended by his language throughout his life and it is nice to have someone with less sensitive sensibilities.

“You’d been trouble free for a day, Isaac. That’s got to be some kind of record for you.”

“Fuck you.”

Isaac doesn’t want to do this. He hates explaining himself, having to tell people why he does the things that he does. 

“Fine, you don’t want to talk about that? Let’s talk about the session we had just before this incident.”

Isaac looks up and glares.

“Fuck that.”

Deaton looks smugly amused and Isaac wants to punch him more than usual.

“You already used that one. Now come one. Tell me more about Scott.”

Isaac looks back at his feet and presses his lips into a thin line.

He’s smart. He won’t tell Deaton about the things that he wants to do to the boy. How he wants to rip him apart and burrow into him. How he wants nothing more than to watch the boy shatter into a million pieces that he can fit into whatever form he wants. 

He wants to fuck him. Hard and fast, pressed up against a wall with no room between their bodies. He wants to hear his screams as he comes and bite his ownership into every inch of flesh he can reach. 

He wants to destroy Scott in every way possible, but he won’t tell Deaton that.

Silence stretches between them for several moments. Isaac fidgets in his seat, folds and unfolds his arms and Deaton watches him calmly, peacefully, waiting for him to break.

He doesn’t.

After what seems like hours of nothing but the ticking clock and the soft sounds of breathing, Deaton sighs and runs a hand over his head.

“Jackson has two broken fingers, Isaac. This isn’t like the last time, we need answers.”

Isaac frowned. 

Deaton was right. This wasn’t at all like his last incident. 

For one, last time, he had been stopped before he was able to do any real damage.

This time though, it wasn’t a game. 

This was the first time in a long time that he’d actually hurt someone out of anger and it is an uncomfortable feeling to say the least. He’d gone so long with no emotion, completely indifferent to the world around him and the feelings of others. He’d been caring about no one but himself for as long as he could remember.

He debates telling Deaton about Scott.

Not everything of course, but about how the boy had burrowed into his mind and made a home there in just a few short days. How it made him see red when he saw Scott sitting with other people and their spot occupied. 

He is ashamed and angry at himself for letting the boy with the sad eyes and crooked jaw get to him. He’s better than this, stronger. 

He doesn’t even know Scott. 

Instead of saying any of this though, Isaac lifts one hand and flips Deaton the bird.

The older man sighs and looks sadly at the clock before shaking his head.

“Well Isaac, that’s all for today. I have recommended that you be placed under 24 hour surveillance and on solitary for the next two months. You know the drill, you’ve been there more times than any of us could count. You’re free to leave.”

Isaac stands and gives a flippant wave as he opens the door and exits the room.

He smirks at his orderly escort and heads in the direction of the rooms. 

Perhaps this two months solitary will give him a chance to get over his dangerous fascination with the new kid.

-

Scott dreams of fire. 

He dreams of flames licking up his body and consuming him.

He screams and calls out for help but he can’t hear himself so he knows that no one else can. 

His entire being is filled with pain and a voice. 

Isaac’s voice. 

He can’t understand what he is saying but he can feel each sound like ice traveling over every inch of him. 

And then he is awake and his body is drenched in sweat and he thinks he is screaming but he isn’t sure.

His suspicions are confirmed moments later when nurses and orderlies rush into his room and hold him down and give him a shot and his body goes numb slowly and the world fades in and out of focus before his eyes.

Before the world goes dark his eyes squeeze shut and all he sees are Isaac’s eyes boring into his soul and he wants to scream.

\- 

Scott asks an orderly to take him to see Jackson during the free period right after lunch. Jackson had not come to the common room since the incident with Isaac and the only one who had seen him in the four days following was Danny.   He feels responsible and he wants to say something, anything. Apologize for not realizing what he was getting into by acknowledging Isaac. 

He didn’t feel guilty. Any guilt he could feel is completely dwarfed by fear. 

Fear that the next time, Isaac won’t stop at Jackson’s finger. Fear that there will be a next time. Fear that the next time it will be him.  
 As he steps into Jackson’s room, the other boy’s head snaps up and his eyes are filled with terror. The fright lasts only for a split second, just long enough for Scott to identify it and name it, before the boy’s face is a mask of indifference.

“What do you want?”

His voice is hoarse but firm and Scott doesn’t really know what he was hoping to accomplish by coming here.

“I...uhm...”

“Spit it out,” he growls in annoyance.

He flinches slightly and looks at his feet before sighing and looking up at Jackson. Their eyes meet for a brief moment and Jackson’s face softens slightly.

“You need to stop it.”

Scott tries to hide his surprise at the softness of Jackson’s voice. He gives Jackson a confused look and the boy sighs and stands up from where he had been seated on his bed. He steps so that he and Scott are about an arms length apart and he gives him the saddest look Scott has ever seen.

“I don’t know what you did to get the attention of Isaac, but you have got to stop it.”

His feels trapped all of a sudden and he wants to run but Jackson’s gaze keeps him frozen in his place. His hands clench at his sides, aching to rip himself apart. 

“You’re not the first and you won’t be the last and there’s no telling if you’ll be one of the survivors. So stop it while you can.”

Scott rips his eyes away from Jackson’s intense look and his eyes land on the boy’s cast. 

He turns on his heel and runs, out of the door, past the orderly, and doesn’t stop until he is in his room, on the lumpy mattress face up, staring at the ceiling and willing his heart to drop back into his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really am not too happy with this chapter to be honest. Hopefully the next one will be a lot better. And hopefully it will be out much sooner. Thanks again for all of your lovely comments and kudos.


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